The Tim Tebow Obsession Runs Out of Air

ENLARGE

Tim Tebow at the Jets Training Camp in July.
Getty Images

By

Jason Gay

Updated Dec. 11, 2012 11:20 p.m. ET

The other day, ESPN president John Skipper gave an interview in which he acknowledged the abundantly obvious: that the network's coverage of Tim Tebow had, at times, gone a wee bit overboard. Speaking to John Ourand in Sports Business Daily, Skipper suggested that ESPN producers had grown too enamored of the ratings that Tebow talk provoked. "We all know that if you focus on the Tebow story, for the next 10 minutes you're going to do better," Skipper said. "But the question is trying to take a long-term perspective and saying, 'Guys, let's not get over excited about one story and hyping it.'"

This was a reasonable declaration. Then again, we are discussing the backup quarterback of a sub-.500 football team who hasn't appeared in a game since mid-November. But such is the never-ending and bizarre phenomenon of Tim Tebow: a player who, because of his lack of playing time, should not command a moment of attention, but remains a talking point, making news even when he's not news, to the point where a leader of the country's most influential sports network expresses regret about the manner in which he has been covered, as if Tebow were a celebrity murder trial, or an underreported overseas war.

Of course, any coverage of Tebow right now is ridiculous, as Tebow is not playing much football. It's like arguing about the service at a restaurant that closed one year ago. But 12 months back, Tebow was indeed a mania, unlike anything else the sports world had seen—this entertaining/polarizing blend of athleticism and underdog-ism and spiritual faith packaged in a player who was humble and gracious and drove skeptics nuts. Do not deny this past.

That winning streak last season in Denver was thrilling and moved the national needle, and it wasn't just ESPN that noticed. Everybody noticed. Here at the Journal, we noticed. The mere mention of Tebow provoked a spike.

People got obsessed, hungry for it. The frenzy grew: Was Tebow for real? At times, the former Heisman winner played like a sturdy veteran. At other times, he played like a fan that Denver found in the parking lot 15 minutes before the game.

That maddening inconsistency was what truly drove the mania. Tebow was a contentious, unsettled question. When an athlete is undeniably good, it doesn't take long for the conversation to fade into a dull haze of superlatives. (Listening to announcers discuss Tom Brady is like listening to newlyweds talk about a Hawaiian honeymoon). Tebow, on the other hand, was far from a sure thing—even his own team questioned his viability as a pro QB. ESPN was happy to stir this debate. The network already had done the same with other prolonged over-shares like Brett Favre's post-Packers un-retirement and LeBron James's escape to Miami. Tebow fit the blueprint. He wasn't a player. He was an argument.

Then Tebow was dismissed from Denver and came here, to New York, and the Jets, which almost felt like some cosmic prank, the planet's most overexposed athlete stepping onboard the planet's most overexposed team. He was the backup, here to upstage and inhale the headliner, Mark Sanchez. The hype was silly, unsustainable, but so was complaining about the hype. If you live in New York and can't stand hype, you should just jump in a cab, head straight for the George Washington Bridge and tell the driver to keep driving, because it's never going to stop. Hype is what this town does.

This is what Tebow knew when he came here, and it was presumably an attraction, but it hasn't worked out to his benefit. Two very conspicuous problems have undermined any 2012 Tebow-mania. The first problem: Tebow's replacement in Denver, Peyton Manning, has been brilliant, instantly transforming the Broncos from a Corolla to a Lexus. Denver chose, and it's clear they chose wisely. The second problem is that the Jets have seldom played Tebow, even as Sanchez has struggled through a horrid season. (Tebow also was briefly hurt.) Who'd have thought the Jets—who seem incapable of resisting anything—could resist Tebow? It's as if the Jets are content to keep him on the wall as a carbon-frozen showpiece, like Han Solo.

With no momentum, the Tebow obsession just ran out oxygen and logic. It was probably hitting the 16th minute in September—or maybe last December—but now it makes no sense, not for ESPN or anyone else. Tim Tebow is 25 years old and motivated, and it's unlikely that we've seen the last of the craze. It's just sleeping, as it should. When it comes back, we'll all know what to do, for better and probably for worse.

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